


A Spoonful of Sugar

by sammichgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters, no weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/pseuds/sammichgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is sick.  Sam takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : Apparently I have nothing to do with the show or WB/CW beyond my imagination. Oh, to dream.
> 
> AN : Written for the insmallpackages exchange at livejournal. Merry Christmas, I hope it’s what you wanted! (Santa guarantee…the elf will fix it if it’s not right)

“Sam, c’mon, it’s my turn.  Don’t you want to watch Indiana Jones?”  Dean was cross.  He ached and he was tired, and after he’d made dinner and fed Sam, he just wanted to relax in front of the tv.  He quickly felt like he was just going to drop. 

Dad had left a few hours ago for a hunt, so the boys were alone for at least a week, if not a little longer. 

“Dean, it’s the best part, chimney sweeps!”  Sam was not budging.  Stubborn seven year old little brother.  And why he was into _Mary freaking Poppins_ , Dean had not clue one.  But Dean’s eyes hurt.  His head hurt.  And his throat hurt.  He wasn’t up to dealing with little brother duty tonight, and had no choice.

“Fine, Sam, fine.  Just, scootch over a bit ok?  I wanna lay down if I’m watching this.”  Dean lay out on the couch while Sam rearranged himself to curl up in the corner, mostly sitting on Dean’s feet. 

Sam shot a quick glance over at Dean.  Dean wasn’t putting up a fight.  Or making fun of him for liking the movie about a magical nanny.  “Dean, you ok?”

“Yeah, Sammy.  Just tired.  Feel sore, but just tired, really.”  Dean yawned and stretched, looked over at Dick van Dyke as Bert, and got even more fatigued just watching the man dance along the rooftops of London.

Sam bit his bottom lip, watching Dean watch the tv.  Worry furrowed his brow.  Dean never got tired or sore.  Dean never complained.  _Huh._   With his still young attention span, he turned back to the movie, and started smiling.  He wanted to sing along, but with Dean’s mood, he knew he shouldn’t push it. 

After the movie, Sam quickly switched over to Indiana Jones.  Dean loved Raiders of the Lost Ark, which should cheer him up.  But when Sam looked at Dean, all he saw was his big brother shivering, eyes barely focused.

“Dean?”  Sammy crawled from his curled up corner to lay alongside him on the couch.  “You ok?  Want a blanket or something?”  Dean barely met Sam’s eyes, and gave a weak “S’ok, Sammy.  I’m fine.”

This wasn’t fine.  Was Dean getting sick?  Dean didn’t get sick.   Dad wasn’t there and Sam knew he was supposed to be good for Dean and stay out of trouble.  But trouble always found Sam somehow, and Dean always fixed it.  But if Dean was sick, then-

A much more interesting thought sprung forth. _Hey!_ Sam was going to have to take care of Dean.  And that meant he was in charge.  Sam had never been in charge.  He could prove he was useful and needed to his family and not a baby. 

Now, what did Dad or Dean always do for him when he was sick?  Sam went into the kitchen to get a glass of water for Dean.  Then he hunted through the med-kit to find some Tylenol.  He grabbed the comforter and a pillow off his bed and returned to the living room. 

Dean’s glazed over stare proved to Sam that he definitely was not 100%. 

“Here Dean, take these, two I think.  And drink some water.” Sam handed his big brother two pills and the glass.  As Dean tried to sit up and do as instructed, again, no fight in him at all, Sam stuffed the pillow under where he his head would land when he lay back down.

Sam really looked at Dean.  Dean was pale.  With two very bright red spots on his cheeks.  He looked sweaty, but was still shivering, so Sam threw the comforter over him and tucked it in all around him, easily coaxing him back down.

“De?”  Sam was anxious, reverted to the little boy nickname he’d always called Dean.  What if Dean didn’t get better?  He quickly checked the salt lines along the door and windows, making sure no breaks were evident.  Taking another look at his big brother so he wouldn’t get yelled at, he went into the weapons bag.  He placed a gun loaded with wrought iron rounds on the table, even though he wasn’t supposed to touch the weapons without Dad or Dean observing.  And he pulled out his own silver knife, the one Bobby had given him, which was inscribed with spells and blessed by a witch.  Sam knew this was what Dad and Dean did, so he just made sure he followed protocol.  He didn’t really know why, but he knew it was important.

Feeling a little more secure, he returned to Dean.  Dean was falling asleep.  Sam fidgeted, standing next to the couch.  He knew he was old enough to not be coddled himself, and Dean obviously was and would not appreciate it, he knew.  But Dean was sick, so surely that was an exception, right?  Sam knew when he was sick, Dean treating him with extra special loving care made him feel better for some reason.  So Sam crawled on top of him and laid his head down on Dean’s chest.  He listened through the muffled layers for his heartbeat, and ran his hand along Dean’s forehead, brushing through the damp, short, spiky strands.

“S’gonna be ok, Dean.  I’m gonna take care of you.  Love you, gonna protect you.” 

Dean was almost asleep, and hearing Sam softly whisper into his ear had him opening his eyes, still feeling like lead weights were trying to hold them down.

“Sammy.”  His voice was thick and phlegmy, and he turned slightly into the couch, rolling Sam with him.  “C’mere.”  Dean tried pulling at the comforter around him, to tuck Sam underneath.  His grip was weak, with no strength behind it.

Sam smiled, little pink cheeks dimpling, his eyes shining.  _Dean wanted to snuggle!_   “Just a minute Dean.”  He got up and pulled back the thick covering, and crawled back on top of Dean into the little divot Dean had made when turning slightly on his side.  He pulled the comforter back up around them both, and tucked his arms around Dean’s chest and shoulder, cuddling up again to lay his head against Dean’s heart.

Dean reached his hands around to Sammy’s hips, not quite able to wrap them around him feeling so tired and worn out.  He mumbled something Sam didn’t catch and within minutes was out again. 

Sam listened to the even but labored breathing, as Dean’s heart beat against his ear.  He reached a hand up to gently swipe over his face, tracing his cheekbones, rubbing his thumb in circles against his collarbone.

“When you wake up, I’m making you soup.  And we’ll stay under the covers and watch your one of favorites, maybe Die Hard.  And I’ll make sure you are ok, De.”

Dean did not respond, dozing restfully, but Sam felt a slight squeeze that he considered a hug.  Not wanting to disturb his big brother, Sam yawned and closed his own eyes.  He would just take a small nap, too.

*****

What seemed like only a few hours later, Sam woke up feeling hot and sweaty and needing to stretch.  When he tried to move, he remembered he was curled up into Dean on the couch, cocooned in the comforter.  Sunlight was filtering in through the small window, the muslin curtain not holding back the light of day.

He raised his head a little bit to peek at his big brother.  Dean was still out cold.  He snuck his hand up to feel Dean’s face and head, and it wasn’t blazing hot or sweaty like before.  Broken fever, Sam remembered, that’s good.

He tried to maneuver out of the warm sleepy pile of Winchester they’d become, moving slowly and quietly.  As soon as his feet hit the ground and he’d pulled the cover back up over Dean, he stilled at a soft murmuring.  Watching Dean carefully, Sam tiptoed his way back out of the living room and into the kitchen.

Breakfast.  Dean needed to eat.  And drink.  He needed more Tylenol, too.  Sam set about pouring juice and getting the pills ready, placing them on the coffee table by the couch.  Cereal was not what Dean needed.  There was a diner at the other end of the motel, if he went quickly he could be back in no time.  Eggs and toast, maybe.  Hot tea?  Sam knew he liked coffee, but tea sounded better.

Dad would kick his ass if he left alone.  But dad wasn’t here.  Dean would kick his ass when he found out Sam left alone.  But Dean was sick and not likely to do it anytime soon.  Sam weighed his options.  He was doing it for Dean, and it was just a few steps away.

Grabbing Dean’s wallet from the kitchen counter, he threw on a hoodie and slipped quietly outside, making sure not to break the salt lines.

*****

Dean’s nose twitched.  _Food._ His stomach rumbled, a pleasant surprise.  He sure hadn’t felt like eating last night and that smelled like, wait – _last night?_

SAMMY.  The thought raced through Dean’s heart and he sat up straight, wide awake with only his little brother on his mind.  He frantically tried to climb out of the covers engulfing him and stumbled, hearing a snicker from behind the couch.

“Sammy?!?”  Dean turned around, wild eyed.

“Hey Dean, feeling better?”  Sam was casually leaning over the couch, eating a strip of bacon. 

“Yeah, actually, I am.  Where did you get breakfast, is Dad back already?”  Dean rubbed his stomach and ran his hands through his hair.  He was still sore, still tired, but felt much better than he had yesterday. 

“Nope. “  Sam grinned, trying to not to let on how nervous he was about Dean being aware of many things since he practically fell unconscious on the couch last night.

“Nope?  We don’t have bacon here, Sammy.  Where did it come from?”  Dean was trying to clear his throat, accepting the glass of juice Sam pointed to on the coffee table.  Upon which laid a gun.  Loaded.  And Sam’s knife.

“Take your Tylenol Dean, and come eat your breakfast.”  Sam walked back into the kitchenette and uncovered Dean’s plate. 

“Sammy, you better start talking to me.”  And Dean realized Sammy had given him an order.  Sam.  His _little_ brother.

“Dean, you were sick, ok?  I just did what you and Dad always do for me.  I took care of you.  And you’re feeling better, so I did good.  I had to slip out for a little bit for breakfast, De, but only to the diner around the corner and back and I wasn’t even gone twenty minutes.”  Sam sat down on a stool and ate another strip of bacon.  And just looked at Dean warily.

Dean wanted to be mad.  He really did.  But he also remembered his sweet little brother cuddling him, keeping him warm, saying he would take care of him, and actually…taking care of him.  And Sam had done everything just like he or Dad would do with the weapons and the salt and even the light medical stuff Dean knew he needed.  He was growing up, way too quickly. 

Sighing and frowning, Dean sat down next to Sam.  Eggs and toast and juice.  And…hot tea? Quirking a glance, he pushed it away. 

“Dean, hot tea is good for your throat and sinuses.  It’ll make you feel even better.”  And Dean couldn’t refuse those warm hazel eyes.  _Fine._

“Still gonna kick your ass for sneaking out, man.”  Dean took a bite of toast and a sip of tea. 

“I know, Dean.  Don’t tell Dad?”  Sam looked Dean in the eyes, knowing his big brother would keep his secret.  And then he sneezed.  Twice.  Wetly.

Dean just rolled his eyes.  _Little brother._

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
